This 3rd chemo round is the worst. I am not joking here. The nausea has trespassed the confines of my mouth and throat to reach my stomach. So I stand over my washbasin to retch and heave and spit until I feel reasonably ok to move away. Since Friday, putting anything in my mouth feels like taking a risk. Thank God for yoghurt.
It is labour day in this country and today marks 3 years exactly since I returned from the United States. Three years of episode after strange episode in my life. There was the confusion, followed by the best friendship I was to know, then came the massive heartbreak, more of the confusion, the desperation and then illness in its varied forms.
The good parts must have been there but they seem so distant for some reason. Oh yes, the trip to Malaysia and the cruise to the Indian Ocean islands with the parents and of course the invitation to Islam.
Three years later, I am in a strange place. A place I never imagined I'd be. Somewhere where I feel that my head is under the water but I am neither sinking nor floating. I am just holding my breath.